Sleazy goes greasyWe, the people, are always looking for something new and exciting to take our minds off our day-to-day miseries. And something always seems to come along.
The latest headline-maker repeats a story that’s been grabbing the pubic’s attention since King David and his squeeze Bathsheeba starred in the first recorded scandal in which a public figure was led astray by his private parts.
Oddly enough, the person at the center of the latest sex scandal is also called King David by close associates. And not always fondly. The King David in this case is former CIA Director David Petraeus, who was a fine enough soldier to earn four stars and a chest full of medals from the U.S. Army before retiring and taking over as Director of the CIA.
Before the dust had cleared from the presidential election, the nation was stunned to learn that Petraeus had cheated on his wife with some hussy posing as his biographer.
It’s a shocker, but it shouldn’t be. Powerful people and those who are drawn to them have played this game since the dawn of time. And nowhere in the world is it played with more frequency or gusto than Washington, D.C., the modern equivalent of the Sodom and Gomorrah metroplex.
In D.C., such sleaze makes great headlines, but it’s actually business as usual.
The real post-election shocker isn’t a sex scandal in Washington. It’s a sex scandal involving a truly revered American institution — Waffle House.
Yes, Waffle House, that icon of artery clogging goodness found itself swept into a cesspool of sleaze after a female accused Waffle House head man Joe Rogers of “forcing her” to perform sex acts.
Once the story broke Rogers admitted to the Atlanta Business Chronicle that he “had a series of infrequent consensual sexual encounters with my housekeeper.”
His housekeeper? The head guy at the Waffle House has to hook up with the help? I knew the economy was bad, but this is inexcusable.
And forced sex? That’s the last thing you expect to hear in connection with a Waffle House. The Waffle House is where lonely people go to find consensual companionship. Usually with great success.
If you’re a man and you can’t get a date at the Waffle House at 3 in the morning, it’s time to join a monastery. I’ve been at the Waffle House when the crew had to force people to stop trying to have sex. Under the table. Or on it. Or in the parking lot. It’s a pretty doggone romantic place. (Maybe bacon is an aphrodisiac.)
Even a loser like me once had a romantic offer from a Waffle House “Waitress of the Month” in Columbus, Georgia. Instead of a “date,” I offered her my best wishes and some money toward a new tooth. We parted on good terms.
On hearing the Waffle House news, my emotions were scattered, smothered and covered with everything from disbelief to disgust.
But it’s happened. Like all good scandals, this one will soon blow over. But it might take me longer than usual to recover.
I wasn’t surprised when there was a sex scandal at the White House.
But the Waffle House?
If that doesn’t show how far off course America has drifted, nothing ever will.
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